


Most Stable in Chaos- A Guardians of the Galaxy Fic

by jennerallyspeaking



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Gen, Hurt Peter Quill, I Am Groot, Peter Quill Feels, Post-Guardians of the Galaxy (2014), Protective Gamora (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-11-08 22:22:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11091129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennerallyspeaking/pseuds/jennerallyspeaking
Summary: After a bad crash on a tiny planet, Peter Quill is trapped without any resources, let alone means to contact his friends.  The days tick by, and all he can do is hope to be rescued by someone, anyone..But when the rescue comes, it isn't what he had hoped.Content warning: some light-violence fight scenes, cursingAlso someone's arm gets lowkey ripped off.  But other than that no real warnings.Contains the Marvel characters from GOTG ,and some original characters.Takes place after the events of Guardians of the Galaxy Volume 2.





	1. In Limbo

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is the first chapter in my Guardians of the Galaxy fic, Most Stable in Chaos. The first two chapters are very short, but I promise things will build up quickly. I hope you enjoy it as it progresses, and feel free to leave feedback. (new publishers are always hungry for your reviews please let me feed on them)
> 
> xoxo,  
> J:)

Most every scientific study from Earth to 100 galaxies over will tell you that the human body will last approximately three weeks without food. It was Peter Quill's fourth day of being trapped in a travel pod under several thousand pounds of boulders, and he was beginning to wonder if that research had been made up just to spite him. If he had been smarter or even just a little bit hungrier at the time he decided to take a day trip from the Milano to whatever dumb planet he was on now, there would at least be an extra strength protein bar in his stomach right about now. There was not. Instead, filling his stomach was an overwhelming pit of panic and loneliness, and hunger. There was definitely hunger there.

Peter had been lonely before. He was lonely every day for months as he watched his mom, his rock to the world, die. He had been lonely during his years aboard Yondu's Ravager ship as a child, because although he was surrounded by rowdy space travelers, no one on board had any interest in using their free time to entertain him the way a child should be. He had felt downright hollow as Ego strung him up with the light; realizing the biological family he had longed for for ages was destroying the family he had made. Peter had felt some lack of the human interaction he required for his entire life, but on day four of being separated from the people he needed most in the world, the disconnect was crippling. It wasn't that he missed the Guardians already, though he did. It was his failure to get connection to comm them, or tap into the lines Rocket had installed in everyone's suits so they would always be connected, that was so frightening. He could imagine Gamora getting more and more agitated as she failed to receive word from him, making little comments about how she warned Peter not to travel alone after the catastrophe with Ego and she always knew he would screw himself over on these little expeditions one day. And as Peter continued to hear nothing but static from his side of the comm device, the thought made him smile.

On day 8, Peter had officially declared himself a pathetic excuse for a hero for weakening so quickly, and decided that if he ever got out of the pod that Groot would be declared the new Starlord. Rocket was going to give him some serious shit for this. He had taken to sleeping to pass the time, since all efforts to use force to escape from the rocks had failed and there were still no responses to his hourly radio broadcasts. The water the travel pod had stored was running dangerously low, and Peter decided that he would rather be crushed to death by the boulders above then shrivel up and die below. But in sleep, all thoughts of his fate dissipated as he dreamed. Dreams were a welcome addition to his simple existence now, and every time he closed his eyes, his concerns over never being discovered faded. Those thoughts were more like paralyzing fear than concerns, really, but "I'm absolutely terrified" wasn't in his vocabulary. "Starlord," he thought, "is not a little bitch."

His dreams were mostly nonsensical with little plot or value; one might start with him laughing with Drax in the Milano, then Drax would be Yondu (who would still be alive), and then Peter would be taking a walk in the desert and drinking a beer that Yondu had brewed. The better nights had Gamora in them, and they'd be dancing to Sam Cooke and putting off that unspoken thing for just a bit longer. Dreamless nights (or days) were okay, too, but they didn't provide anything to think about when Peter woke. It was during hour 237 of being trapped that Peter, quivering from dehydration and starvation and cramped from the confines of the crumpled pod, had his first nightmare. 

The nightmare had been a recurring one, but it hadn't entered his slumbering mind for weeks. In the dream, Peter was being forced to kneel in the caverns of Ego's planet, feeling pain like electrified lashings as each tendril of light snaked through his form. The feeling numbed every part of him except for his pain receptors, and Peter felt as if each millimeter of his body was exploding and collapsing at the same time. But, the worst part was that he could still clearly see what was going on in front of him. Ego had lined up his friends and was using Peter's energy to drain their bodies of life. And as he watched Rocket wither and cry out, Groot splinter, and Yondu-- Peter hadn't seen Yondu in any of the other nightmares like this one. His 'adoptive' father was bent on one knee, fin torn from his skull and arrow shattered across the ground in front of him. Peter watched Yondu in limp shock; the Centaurian was staring straight ahead, weeping without noise. Yondu had never cried in front of anyone before, and in his bonds of light, Peter began to shake with a new-found rage. In fact, it felt as if the entire planet was vibrating, Ego's form tremoring side to side, so intense that Peter awoke in a cold sweat. 

His pod really was shaking, and instead of rocks, Peter could see starlight illuminating the dim exterior of the large ship that was currently drilling him out of his terrestrial prison. It wasn't the Milano.

"Well, shit."


	2. Seeking Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perspective switches to a worried Gamora's POV as the crew tries to figure out where Peter is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any of you are amazed I posted twice in a matter of minutes, it's not because I'm a genius, it's because these chapters were written in advance on my Wattpad account. And shiiite, this chapter is a little shorter and sloppier than the previous, but DONT LOSE HOPE! Chapter three is coming and THAT is when things will start to get, well, interesting ;). I hope you guys stick with me and enjoy this! 
> 
> feed the hungry writer with your reviews or the beast will come :))))
> 
> xoxo,  
> J:)

On a familiar blue and orange spacecraft miles away, Gamora was laying in her bed, frowning at the warping ceiling above. Peter had left his new Zune, something he was still learning to use but was aggressively loyal to, when he went out to explore. He had been gone for over ten days now, and the Zune slipped into Gamora's nighttime routine, becoming an emptier substitute to Peter's presence for her. And like Peter had been ashamed to physically weaken so quickly, Gamora was having trouble understanding how her emotions weren't just consisting of worry over the Starlord's well-being. It was impossible to discuss her feelings with anyone else on the ship; Mantis was too logical, Kraglin only felt emotion for the Ravager Code and big breasts, Drax was too blunt, and everyone knew Rocket and Groot were doing their best to hide the fact that they were the most sensitive members of the crew. So Gamora acted firm and reassuring during the day but longed for her resting hours, where she could listen to Peter's songs in secret. Sure, the Zune didn't come close to being Peter, but it quelled the waves of restlessness in her mind the same way he would.

Peter had disappeared before. A few weeks after Yondu died, he went out in a pod "to think", and ended up floating for five days. He came back calmer and more in touch with the world around and within him, but his expedition had given the Guardians a heart attack, since he kept his comm device off the entire time. Another time, Peter had disappeared while his friends slept, leaving behind only a cryptic note and an obvious decrease in the group savings account . Rocket and Drax had been doing their best to rationalize this most recent disappearance, but something felt amiss. Since Peter's first "leave of absence", Gamora had insisted Rocket install GPS devices in the wiring of everyone's suit, and the technology was nearly impeccable. This time, however, the connection seemed blocked.

"Look, hun," Rocket had said to Gamora on the third day without word from Peter, "we're in a pretty remote location right now. That's never good for making a comm call, so that could be a part of this ugly little problem. Secondly, in this remote location, there are billions of calls and messages and signals zip-zapping around us, trying to get where they're going. That's a lot of buzz, so depending on how far away our jackass is, I bet our signal, though brilliantly crafted by yours truly, is not the strongest."

"I am Groot!"

Rocket grinned toothily and nodded in agreement with his little friend. "Groot makes a good point. We know that although there isn't much in that head, Starmunch isn't an imbecile. There's a good chance he doesn't want to be found right now, and he's come up with a way to evade us again."

Gamora wished she could agree with the idea, but she wasn't convinced. "Rocket, look. I'd love for there to be a reasonable explanation for this, but Peter has been recovering well lately. He has little reason to go on another soul search, or even a binge. What if he's trying to contact us but can't? What if he's hurt, or trapped, or worse?"

Rocket frowned. "Are you worried he's dead? People relapse, Gamora. And if Peter is trapped and trying to get to us, the only way the signal would be completely lost was if he was buried; under the surface. After all we went through on Ego's planet, I don't think he would care to go on another journey to the center of any world."

The raccoon was correct in two regards. Peter did not wish to go anywhere near a planet's core in the foreseeable future, and he was indeed buried, just not underground. In fact, one can be buried in nearly every material above ground. The Terran had been drinking the night he left, and decided to go on a celestial dumpster dive on a nearby abandoned planet. As his pod went in for landing on the uneven surface, Peter drunkenly swerved left into a semicircle of columns that were surrounding a depression in the earth. It was a stupid way to go out, stuck in a ditch under thousands of pounds of column rock that had fallen on top of the nearly invincible pod, and Peter cursed himself every day for the mistake. He would have been glad to hear Gamora couldn't shake the thought that he was dead.

But Rocket's effort at reassurance had happened a week ago, and the Milano had been flying to every planet or large blob of energy within two jumps, trying to pick up the slightest signal from Peter. However, that signal would never come through. It was unfortunate that on day ten, the day Peter's pod was pulled from the wreckage, the comm device and suit were destroyed by his rescuers.


	3. Something to Believe In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter wakes up in an unfamiliar ship and meets his rescuer. He also phones home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey again! Chapter Three is here, and it's considerably longer than the previous chapters. And, you get to meet two original characters by yours truly!  
> I hope you guys reallllllly like this one, and please give me some feedback in the comments. Or some kudos. Or both ;).  
> ALSO SOMETHING REALLL WEIRD HAPPENED WITH THE LINE SPACING IN THIS CHAPTER IM SORRY DONT HATE ME
> 
> xoxo,  
> J:)

“Well, shit.”

Those had been the first words Peter Quill had uttered aloud in a week and a half, and the rasp in his voice startled him. He had known his body would be weak if/when he got out of the pod, and he was expecting to use his words as a weapon if necessary while his body recovered. Although you couldn’t make anyone bleed by yelling at them, a lifetime of thievery had taught Peter that negotiation, stalling, and joking tactics could save your life. Or, piss someone off. Both were fine.

Pressing his face to the splintered and dust-coated glass of the pod, Peter could see the ditch he had been trapped in getting smaller as he was lifted higher from it. Slowly, he was being beamed into an already landed ship; a cylindrical one with a matte gray exterior. From what little viewpoint he had, Peter couldn’t see any markings or writing that would give him a clue of the people that had found him, and as he got closer to the craft, it was increasingly more difficult to stay awake. A milky vanilla fragrance filled his nose, and he felt a blanket of comfort wash over him for the first time since he crashed. Sleep no longer felt like a chore. It was a gift, specially designed for Peter Quill, and although every part of him was screaming danger, the feeling was overwhelming. The last thing he saw before the pod entered the ship was a sliding panel opening wide, exposing a yawning maw oozing with golden light that finally put him to sleep.

Peter awoke in a nest of sunken pillows and silk, feeling as healthy as he was before the crash. There was no evidence of hunger clawing from his stomach, no mottled violet bruises coating his legs from where he slammed against the front of the pod, and most surprisingly, no sharp stab of panic when he didn’t recognize his surroundings. He sat up gingerly but without trouble, and surveyed the room around him. The sheer sum of luxury decor seemed to be worth six times the profits the Guardians usually made in a year, and Peter shook off the annoyance that rose within him. The extravagance was irritating. He was known for wasting money on unnecessary things, but seeing someone spend money on ornate objects just to showcase wealth brought him back to his humble childhood. Peter walked to the porthole window that was adjacent to his bed and gazed out at the stars. He didn’t recognize anything, as there were no landmarks in the sky to give him an estimate of his location, but there was a possibility that he would be able to get a signal from the ship to contact his beloved Milano. Peter reached for the pocket on his thigh that always held his comm, and froze. The familiar bulge of the device was absent, and as he looked down, Peter realized that the pants he was wearing were definitely not his own. In an unnerving second, it was made clear that whoever had saved Peter had also bathed him and clothed him in garb that was a near replica of his own. Suddenly, the sound of a door clicking open put the Starlord on high alert, and he pivoted to find himself face to face with a visitor.

“Peter Jason Quill. Or should I call you..Starlord? You’ve been asleep for quite a few days since we found you, and it’s even more of a pleasure to be in your conscious presence.” 

Peter raised his eyebrows and leaned back, thumbs tucked in his waistband. “Yep. That’s my name. You seem.. pleased to meet me.”

The man laughed, the action cutting deep smile lines into otherwise unaged skin. “Pleased is an understatement! I never expected to meet anyone who singlehandedly saved the galaxy once, let alone two times. Heros are in short supply these days”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, that wasn’t all me. I did have some pretty kickass help and--”

“Peter! Humility is an honorable quality, but it’s quite alright to let it go when you’re in my company.”  
Peter frowned, but couldn’t help but feel a strange relief that this guy was okay with some dicking around. It had been a while since he could brag without Gamora getting on him about it. “Not to sound ungrateful or suspicious of your intentions, mister, but just whose company am I in?”

“Of course,” the man said as he turned to the window. “I understand how this could be interpreted incorrectly. My name is Myrna. Although I’m no royalty, my followers see me as a kingly figure amongst them. Everyone on this ship has been a misfit of sorts in their culture, and though we come from different backgrounds, we are a people united in science and curiosity. We push the limits of experimentation in order to understand the inner workings of biological life, and all that that life creates. But, Peter, I ask that you don't see us as a cold people. It is a common misconception for our visitors to see only our logic-minded customs and ornate living quarters, and think we are selfish. I have led my people to be nothing but altruistic, but even without my guiding hand, it would be nearly impossible for beings of such simple origins to become self-absorbed. Our purpose is to guide each resident of the galaxy to the truest forms of peace and knowledge. We help them, just as we help you.” Myrna paused, and Peter flinched as the lanky man rotated to face him again. In the dazzling light of the room, Myrna’s face was an open book. Every feature, from his faintly cerulean-tinged skin to the smoothly healed scars under each slanted hazel eye, stood out. The brief explanation he had given settled well with Peter, but the Terran was still confused.

“So that’s how you found me? Because you guys are all..sciencey?”

“Not quite, Mr. Quill. Eloquently put, but not quite right.” Myrna gestured for Peter to sit with him, and continued. “This ship is our home base, if you will. But I’ve sent out hundreds of small teams over the years in pods that are remarkably similar to yours. The navigation team was doing their daily scan to locate where our teams were, and found an unfamiliar signal. When we heard you sending out S.O.S--”

Peter interrupted excitedly. “Holy shit! You guys know morse code? Geez, I thought I was the only person left in the galaxy who was fluent. At that point, it was a last resort.” 

Myrna exhaled sharply through his nose and smiled. “Like I was saying, when we heard you sending out S.O.S., we knew it wasn’t from one of ours, but every life is one worth saving. And now here you are.”

“My friends, why weren’t they able to find me? I was out there for days and I know they were searching, too. I mean, Rocket’s the best I know when it comes to tech.”

“That I cannot explain.”

Peter began to feel himself winding up. “Where’s my comm? I have to let them know I’m alive. Why did you take, my comm, anyway?”

“Whenever someone who is not a part of the team, nor a new recruit, comes on board, it is protocol to dispose of whatever they bring with them. The risk of an enemy bringing an item to destroy our way of life is too great.”

“Good thing I didn’t wear my Sunday best, then.”

Myrna tilted his head back and laughed heartily. “Would you like to contact your fellow Guardians using the ship’s technology? I cannot make any promises on when you’ll be able to return to them, but I’m sure they’re dying to see your face.”

Peter’s crooked smile was enough of an answer for Myrna, and Peter was led through the stark white halls to the communication room. 

A wide, chrome chair and the back of a head adorned in tightly wound dreadlocks were the only things in the room besides an assortment different control panels and screens. Some screens were simply black, while others had live footage of other parts of the ship. Myrna hadn’t been exaggerating when he said that ‘his people’ were from all walks of life. No one in the videos looked like they were from the same city, let alone the same planet. Myrna jogged to the man in the chair, and Peter couldn’t help but notice how the tightness of the man’s outfit showed off his fit form. 

“Damn,” he thought. “These people are the only sexy scientists I’ve seen in my life. Gotta get some tips.”

After about a minute of apparent deliberation with Myrna, the man in the chrome chair stood and faced Peter. His skin was ebony, and he had strikingly pale eyes that stood out like a flower in a desert. Perhaps the most striking part about his eyes were that there were at least twelve of them, arranged around his temples like those of a spider’s. He smiled, exposing rows of needle-shaped teeth, but his expression was genuine, and Peter approached.

“This is Jacques,” Myrna beamed. “If you give him the registry number of the Milano, he’ll send a call right over to it for you.”

 

“Hey, uh, buddy. Thanks for your help.” Peter desperately wanted to insert a joke in his dialogue to lighten the setting, but it didn’t seem appropriate. There were very few jokes you could make to a spider-man fusion and still appear sensitive.

Jacques nodded and turned to Myrna. He touched his right hand to the part of his chin right below his mouth, and then gestured at Peter. Peter furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

“Ah. Jacques has just asked me to tell you that he can’t communicate verbally. I expect he picked up on your awkward tension. Even without heightened senses, it was fairly easy to notice.” Myrna smirked.

Peter flushed, and opened his mouth to make a sarcastic comment, but thought better of it. He was uneasy not feeling like he could use his tongue as a defense in Myrna’s presence. He was Peter-friggin-Quill, but on this ship, his sense of rebellion was comfortably numb. As he looked down to his bare toes, he failed to notice Myrna narrow his eyes and twist his hand the slightest bit in his direction.

“The registry number, Mr. Quill.”

“RIght. Yeah. Sorry.” He leaned over Jacques and punched the sequence into the computer, mouthing each character as his fingers moved over the keys. For a second, there was nothing; the screen showing only the reflected light of its glowing twins, and Peter’s heart stopped. He hadn’t even noticed it was beating so fast. And then, the monitor began to ring. It rang seven times, and the silence in between each ring was smothering. And then, there was a voice.

“Who in the- shut UP Groot- hell is this?” A singular round, black eye was visible on the screen in front of Peter.

“Rocket,” he breathed.

The raccoon leaned back and coughed. “Yeah, you got it. First try- QUILL? Shit! Gamora, Drax, get in here!”

Peter’s cheeks ached from smiling as he watched his friends tumble in around their computer. The video was a little foggy, like someone had left the screen in a steamy bathroom and the vapor had travelled inside of it, but the shocked faces of the Guardians were clear enough.

“Hey, guys. It’s been a while.”

Gamora glared at her screen. “We were scared out of our minds, Peter. Where the hell have you been?”

Drax had been laughing (surprisingly quietly) since he had first seen Peter, but now his voice was booming with joy. “You are alive! Can you believe it? I thought for sure you’d be dead with how quickly you weaken alone.”

“I am Groot!”

Peter giggled deliriously. The sense of calm that had coated him when he first entered Myrna’s ship had returned, and he began explaining the situation to his friends. Suddenly, the video froze, and the voices of the Guardians became choppy. 

“Listen, Quill! I think--losing you an-- connection’s bad. Come to us! We’re--because some idiot named Drax--nd that ended up wrecking the left--. I’ll send our location before we completely lose connection. Good-- you’re safe.” Rocket’s voice scratched over, and the video jumped to a still of the raccoon giving Peter a thumbs up and grinning terribly with the others waving in the background. Jacques ended the call, and Peter sighed in relief.

“You really do care about them, don’t you?” Myrna asked, resting a hand on the small of the Starlord’s back. “The familial bond is evident.”

“Yes. They’re assholes, but they’re family.” 

“Well, once Jacques receives the coordinates of the ship from the, um, rodent, we’ll be on our way to reuniting you.” 

Peter’s eyes were unfocused as he smiled. 

And several jumps over, Gamora was holding onto Groot as she sat in the control room. There had still been no call from Peter Quill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooOooOOOOh plot twist in that last line!!! i did promise you guys that things would pick up here, and this chapter was the tipping point into all writing hell breaking lose.
> 
> let me know your theories/reviews or the hungry writer beast (me) will haunt you all. haunting with love, of course.
> 
> i love you guys for giving this story a chance.
> 
> xoxo,  
> J:)


	4. All in Your Hands (Head)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth of Myrna's intentions are revealed to Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank everybody for all the lovely comments I've been getting so far! I appreciate every one of you for making the effort to let me know what you think. :)
> 
> ALSO sorry this took so long to update! I've been at the beach all week with nothing but my phone to write on, so this chapter took foooorever and it still feels a lil clunky. But that's okay! 
> 
> Hope you enjoy chapter 4, and give me feedback in the comments! (or leave kudos or both hehehe)
> 
> xoxo,  
> J:)

“I could ,” Rocket slurred through a mouthful of foam, “beat up erreybody in this bar an’ come out ‘onest to God untouched.”. The raccoon, who had a beer in both hands and a bubble pipe wedged between his pointed teeth, was addressing anyone who would listen. At the moment, ‘anyone’ was the Hawaiian bobblehead girl that was drooping over a bottle of whiskey. For the past twenty days since Peter had disappeared, there had been a dull ache in Rocket’s chest cavity. Peter was family. Peter was the leader of their ragtag bunch, and without him, the team would never had stayed together after their prison break. If there was a type of adhesive that had incredible ability to bond things but a painfully annoying application process, it would be named after the Starlord. Being trapped in the Milano in a state of Quill-less limbo with the rest of the Guardians had been torturing Rocket, and there was a frightening urge within him to get out. Gamora finally allowed a break when Rocket’s rage began to scare Mantis, especially after one evening where he set fire to half of the cargo deck. 

So this is where the raccoon ended up; smoking bubbles and drinking just enough to push him off the edge of what he could handle. Drax had followed Rocket to the dive bar, and was laying belly-up on an Earthen-style pool table. A number of girls surrounded him, giggling at his drunken tales of battle and Guardian related shenanigans. There were unquantifiable lipstick prints across his rugged torso, and the reek of alcohol surrounding the Destroyer was masked by the cloud of perfume that oozed from his fans. Rocket, who was both disgusted by the scene and feeling quite nauseous, decided that the lack of attention in his direction was a benefit, and carefully vomited into an empty ashtray. 

****************************

Peter Quill was also more than a little under the influence, but his experience at the bar was arguably better than Rocket’s. He had been conscious on Myrna’s ship for six days, and each night provided a new sort of entertainment.

A girl with purple skin and a metallic voice sidled up to the table where Peter was sitting and offered him another drink. Before he could answer, the girl planted a sloppy kiss on the corner of his mouth. “It’s not every day I get to meet a hero, Starlord”

Peter grinned, his tongue poking out between his teeth, and slung an arm around the girl. Days ago he would have felt a stab of guilt for flirting with someone other than Gamora, but each wild night had worked to erode his morals. He cracked his neck and glanced around the bar. The place was buzzing with an energy Peter couldn't identify; it wasn't quite like the drunken aura he had experienced in every other lounge. The air seemed more alive here, as if Myrna had created the ultimate scientific masterpiece of a perfectly balanced bar. The girl he was holding (he vaguely remembered her introducing herself as Stella, but maybe it was Scarlet?) giggled and lifted a lazy finger toward the direction of the doorway. Jacques was there, dancing with a man who looked Terran, while simultaneously dodging a crowd of intoxicated onlookers. “He’s the best dancer here.”

“What?” 

Stella/Scarlet purred with laughter. “Jacques. He’s the best dancer here. Once he starts, everyone wants in.”

Peter didn't understand why Stella/Scarlet found this funny, but he smiled understandingly. The room seemed to swim, and it was unclear whether the drumming in his skull was a splitting headache or natural rhythm. The bliss of moments before was gone, and as Peter began to rise unsteadily, he felt a firm hand clap his shoulder.

“Mr. Quill! I hope this scene isn't too much for you.”. Myrna turned Peter’s stool around so the two men were facing and gave a nod to Stella/Scarlet, excusing her. 

Peter drained what was left of his drink and stood. “This is just like the old Ravager days, man! I never expected you science people could be so rowdy.”

“Well, we can't just study formulas all day, Peter! 

Biological life needs entertainment to be stable. Even artificial life, like your girl over there, requires it.”

Peter choked in surprise. “She's not.. alive?”

Myrna chuckled, but not unkindly. “No, Stella is an android. One of my own design, in fact. How little you know about our creations, Peter, and that's precisely the reason I came to you tonight. Let’s take a walk.”

The pair wound their way through the crowds and exited into a shockingly quiet hallway. Peter didn't feel the need to question where Myrna was leading him. In fact, he felt refreshed, as if he hadn't just spent the past three hours in a bar. 

“I’m sorry we haven't been able to return you to your friends yet, Mr. Quill. I'm sure you understand that we have to make stops along the way. One’s research can never stop, unfortunately.”

“That's alright.” Peter yawned into his fist, and it really did feel ‘alright’ to have not reunited with the Guardians.

“I'm taking you now to the crown jewel of this ship and my personal favorite area. We specialize in many types of research, many types of.. learning. As a curious people, we experiment regularly, we hypothesize and collect. Do you have any idea what our primary forms of experimentation are?” Myrna abruptly rounded a corner and Peter stumbled after him. 

“No, Myrna, I ha-”

Myrna grabbed Peter’s wrist, cutting him off mid-sentence. The two men tumbled into a narrower hallway that was nearly invisible from the main one. “I’ve mentioned my people’s habit of collection a few times since we met, Peter. We’ll start there.” 

Lights flickered throughout the length of the passageway and illuminated hundreds of tanks. Each held a different creature; some were shrouded in gel, some floated in preserving liquid as tiny streams of bubbles crept from their lips, others were strung up with tubes and wires, and the most disturbing were long dead but rotting in place. Peter gasped and backed away, his legs moving in slow motion.

“Do y-you work with the Collector, or something?”

Myrna grimaced and shook his head. “I would never even consider crossing paths with that man. No, these are the collections of my people. We search the galaxy for the creatures that we know the least about, or the creatures who aren’t up to par with our.. education standards. Some clearly just cannot survive without their own comforts, and those beings prove to be irrelevant. It is important to observe.” 

Peter’s eyes skipped across the crumpled forms of Myrna’s ‘collection’. Bile was rising in his throat, and for the first time since he had awoken on the ship, he felt trapped, like a lab rat. Myrna was watching him with a barely noticeable smirk.

“I can tell you aren’t too fond of this little exhibit, Mr. Quill. Perhaps I should introduce you to the part of my abilities I’m most proud of, eh? Follow me.”

Instead of following, Peter turned clumsily and took off. There was no obvious reaction from the Myrna save for a hand twitch and a smile, and Peter froze in response. His tensed form relaxed, and his head clouded. All thoughts of escaping and fear had turned to cotton strands, plush stuffing. In fact, most of his thoughts dissolved dreamily, and his eyes lost their alertness. The hallway, which had just been full of the horrifying tanks, now matched the elegant design of the rest of the ship.

“Nothing to worry about And now that your mind is open, I’ll talk to you about the pride and joy of my work. Ever heard of the art of hallucination, Peter?” Myrna led the way down a series of twisting hallways until the pair reached the entrance to Peter’s quarters and stepped inside. Closing the door, he started again. “I suppose this part of my work is more ‘magic’ than science, but who says the two can’t mix? When one hallucinates, they see, but do not process. What someone under the influence of a hallucinogen observes is simply a mirage created by their mind, or in this case, my mind. I assume, Mr. Quill, you remember your days trapped in the travel pod before we found you; desperately sending out a signal on the hour in the hopes of being found. Would you believe me if I told you that we received your cry for help on day one?”

Peter’s eyes widened in shock, and he was stirred from his trance. “You what?”

“It wasn’t that your signal was too weak for your fellow Guardians to find, my friend. It was that you only sent that signal once.”  
“How the hell is that possible?” Peter was fully out of the trance now, his surprised anger overwhelming the bliss. “I was in there for days sending the signal out every hour. When you rescued me, I had been in that pod for over a damn week. I was starving, nearly unconcious.”

“When my team found you, they recognised the Legendary Starlord immediately, and realised we could use you in our research. We freed your pod from the wreckage, altered your memories, and kept you trapped inside it for days. Every time you ‘sent out a cry for help’, you were simply lying there, viewing a falsehood. Peter, you were practically a corpse and we puppeteered you with hallucinations. Those of Terran origins are perhaps the easiest beings to manipulate.”

Peter felt the blood drain from his face. “You fucking scumbag. NO ONE gets to mess with my mind like that.” He charged at Myrna in a blind rage, only to feel the stronger man’s fist batter his face.

“Look around! You weren’t just hallucinating at the beginning of this ordeal!” He smashed his knuckles into Peter’s face again, drawing blood and shoving him to the floor.

The room that had seemed so luxurious to Peter on his first impression waking now appeared to be a high-tech dungeon. The walls were slick and gray, and tanks similar to the ones that had been in the previous hallway hung from the vaulted ceilings. Each swinging tank had a computer attached to it, and there was a pile of guns in the farthest corner of the room. The only things that had truly existed were Peter’s bed of pillows, and the two dining chairs that framed a window. Peter retched, spitting out blood and mucus. “Love.. what you’ve done to the place, Myrna. Looks fantastic.”

Myrna shook with laughter and bent over Peter’s heaving form, sending a well-aimed kick into the Starlord’s ribs. Peter yelped as pain blossomed in his side, and reached for where he would usually keep his gun. Of course it wasn’t there. The gun had been one of the things Myrna’s team had destroyed when he was brought on the ship.

“That’s not all! Remember when you called your friends?”

“Oh, let me guess. I didn’t.” Peter tried to remain fierce, but his voice quivered with the knowledge that his friends had no idea where he was.

“Precisely. You’re catching on quite quickly. Perhaps Terrans aren’t as slow as I had previously anticipated. Anyway, you helped us there, Peter. Although the call with the Guardians was completely in your mind, you did turn over the registry number of the Milano. We’ve been tracking it for days, and soon, you’ll have a happy reunion with your band of misfits. It would be so rude of us to keep the dream team apart.” Myrna spat, his words seemingly too plentiful for him to contain. “Can you believe that you are the first Terran my people and I have ever collected for study? You should be honored, because this is where the learning really starts.”

“Honestly, Myrna, I have had enough schooling for a lifetime. How ‘bout I just graduate early?” Peter started to rise, inching toward the pile of guns.

“Not so fast, Mr. Quill. I told you earlier that we collect the creatures we know the least about, or those who aren’t familiar with our truth yet. You fall into both categories, and we still have so much to discover about who you really are. And along the way, you can discover some new things about yourself, too! So let’s STEP AWAY FROM THE GUNS.”

A shot rang through the air, and Peter’s vision dissolved. Falling to the ground once again, he spied a hole the size of a tack in his left calf that was oozing blood.

Myrna grabbed Peter by the shoulders and dragged him to the center of the room. “I never like damaging a specimen. I was hoping all it would take for you to cooperate was a little friendly persuasion; a worm in your ear whispering all of the niceties you needed to hear to calm you down, but you’ve strengthened since your encounter with Ego. I had to hurt you just the tiniest bit for you to listen.”

“What the hell is in my leg?” The wound was radiating a pain so strong that each pulse threatened to make Peter black out.

“It’s amazing how something so small can hurt so badly, isn’t it? Don’t worry, though. You won’t be feeling much of anything very soon.” Myrna dropped Peter and walked over to a small table by the window. The table had a control panel on it, and after typing a sequence into the keyboard, one of the hanging tanks began to descend towards Peter’s limp form. Myrna returned and squatted so the two men’s faces were mere inches apart. 

“That tank will be your new home for however long it takes for my people to finish their studies. I trust it will be comfortable enough, but in the state you’ll be in there won’t be opportunity to complain.” The blue-tinged man pulled a tiny two-headed pen from his pocket. “And this, Peter, will prepare you for your home. Moving day is so.. bittersweet.”

Swiftly, Myrna stabbed one end of the pen into Peter’s temple, placing a metallic chip under his skin. Peter’s eyes rolled back, and the protest died on his lips. Myrna gently inserted the other end of the pen into the Terran’s wrist like a syringe, and had he been conscious, Peter would have felt every inch of his form become completely numb. Like the ones he had seen in the collection hallway, he had become nothing more than a specimen.

The Starlord’s body was propped inside the tank, and Myrna summoned his most loyal team to attach him to life support. As the glass tomb closed and began to raise to the ceiling, a liquid the color of Myrna’s skin filled it, and the ‘scientists’ celebrated as a stream of bubbles exited his slightly opened mouth. His chest began to rise and fall, but there was no other sign of life. If something went wrong and Peter awoke, the team had ensured that his vision would be altered with a hallucination of a simple wild night on the ship.

And somewhere close in space, Rocket stumbled through a haze of hangover to the control room of the Milano. There was an unfamiliar ship beeping on their radar display.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did any of you expect THIS? The hallucination part was supposed to be the big thing, but the 'specimen collection' scenes took over. They were the most entertaining to write. (oopsie)
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments and I'll be back ASAP with an update.
> 
> xoxo,  
> J:)


	5. A Study in Belief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Guardians get first word of Peter's whereabouts, and set off to meet him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're reading this on the day it was published, I have great news! Chapter six will be also be released today, perhaps in a matter of minutes.
> 
> Thank you so much for your comments and 1000+ hits!
> 
> xoxo,  
> J:)

“Gamora! C’mere!” Rocket squinted at the radar display through blurred and aching eyes. “What the hell does this ship think it's doing?”

Gamora frowned at the beeping light approaching the Milano. “They're going fast. Collision speed fast.”

Rocket whistled. “Yeah, but the trajectory appears to be friendly since it isn't heading straight us . God, why are they so fast?.”

“I, too, am fast at many things. But slow when it counts. Who are we racing?” Drax entered the room, still covered in lipstick stains from the previous night at the bar. 

Rolling his eyes, Rocket replied: “That's gross, man. Did not need to know your speed preferences. And we aren't racing anyone; there's an unfamiliar ship heading toward us at alarming speed.” 

“Can you somehow hack the registry number, Rocket?” Gamora asked.

“Duh. I'm already on it.” The raccoon typed furiously into the dashboard, and Groot scrambled into his lap as he worked. 

“Done! 5Y78X22MYR-qst5. Doesn't seem to belong to any specific group, and happily, any specific army. In fact, if I pull up its image on..ShipFax, the design is completely original. Sleek, modern, gray, and very boring. Shaped like an oblong chopped up egg. Not my type.”

“Rocket,” Gamora sighed, “That’s a cylinder. It’s shaped like a cylinder, and the design points are the least of our worries. Maybe you should try to figure out who's on it.”

“I am Groot!!”

The four stared out the front pane in response to Groot’s exclamation, and were shocked to see that the odd ship was now in view. It seemed impossible for it to have reached the Milano so quickly, yet it was very clearly there. The intercom buzzed.

“That’s the registry number! They're trying to comm us,” Rocket hissed. “Should we answer?”

Gamora nodded silently. It was a pathetic thought, but she was praying the call was from Peter. She hadn't gotten a full nights sleep since he had disappeared, and seeing his face would be a blessing. Tentatively, she pressed the “RECEIVE” button. A leanly attractive man with blue tinged skin crackled in to view on the adjacent screen, and Gamora’s heart sank. The man smiled warmly.

“Guardians! What an honor! I hope our ship did not intimidate you.”

“Nope, we’re definitely used to spacecraft that can travel at impossible speeds. Who are you and how did you get the registry number to call us?” Rocket bared his teeth into the camera.

The man laughed. “I am Myrna. Your registry number was generously given to me by your Starlord.”

Gamora’s hands flew to her mouth and Rocket inhaled sharply. Groot reached a small hand in Drax’s direction, and the Destroyer cradled him. 

Surprisingly, Drax was the first to respond. “You know Quill? Is he with you?”

Myrna clapped his hands in delight. “Yes! I’d put him on now, but he’s absolutely knocked out. I’ve never seen anyone sleep so heavily,” He paused, ready to change direction. “ I’m sure you were at least a little alarmed when you noticed our ship approaching yours so quickly, but that was all in an effort to reach you! I, with Peter’s help, have been seeking you for days and when I finally noticed the Milano on the radar display I knew I had to act fast. I’m extending an invitation to all of you to come on my ship and celebrate your reunion with Peter! What do you say?”

All worries of sabotage were flung from Gamora’s mind as she blurted: “Yes.”

“Fantastic! When our ships are closer I’ll extend the landing deck on the starboard side. See you soon, Guardians!” The display fizzled out.

“Why the hell did you say ‘yes’, Gamora?” Rocket snapped. “This could be a trap, for crying out loud!”

Gamora massaged her temple. “Rocket, this is the only lead we’ve had in almost a month. Although I hate to admit it, we need Peter like we need oxygen, and I’m willing to risk it all if it means seeing him again. And you know us; if Peter isn’t on that ship and we’re being manipulated, we’ll just blow it up.”

“HA! I like the sound of that!” Drax stood a little straighter. “I agree with Gamora. We have to see if Quill is there. I miss his music.”

“I am Groot!” The tiny tree scrambled from Drax’s hands and began beating on Rocket’s leg with curled fists.

“Fine, fine. We’ll go find Starmunch and kick the ass of anybody who tries to stop us.”

A sense of determined unity fell over the team as they watched Myrna’s ship draw near. They suited up, concealing guns, knives, and a variety of tiny grenade blasters in their clothes. After a heated argument, it was finalized that Groot would remain on the Milano under Mantis’ care, and Gamora had to carry the kicking and screaming Floral colossus into a secure chamber. Mantis gave her a wane smile as she approached.

“You are going to find Peter?” Mantis’ eyes were wide, her face a cocktail of concern and hope.

“Yes. And I think we’re going to find him.”

“Please be careful.” Mantis rose, and for the first time since they had met, Gamora allowed the woman to place a hand on her shoulder. The moment was fleeting, however, and Gamora turned sharply and exited the room, leaving the two most innocent members of their family alone.

The surreal purple webbing of the spacesuits was coating Drax and Rocket, and Gamora frowned in confusion. “Aren’t we docking on Myrna’s ship?”

Rocket laughed, his voice high pitched and wild. “God, no. I may be going there, but I do not trust these weirdos with my baby.”

“I think you mean Peter’s baby.”

“He’s not here, is he? Therefore it’s mine.”

The trio watched with bated breath as Myrna’s eerie ship slid next to the Milano. Drax wordlessly opened the back hatch and they floated toward the extended decking area, booted feet landing with a thump on its surface. A muscular woman ushered them inside the craft, and Gamora was pleasantly surprised with the eloquently modern interior. 

“Gentlemen and, uh, lady, I’m going to have to ask you to strip down and give us your belongings. I apologize for the inconvenience, but it's standard protocol.”

Rocket snorted. “Not happening. We know nothing about you people, and yet the first thing you ask for is a safety-driven strip show. I don't know about my companions, but I for one will be keeping my own clothes and items. Screw your protocol.”

The guard scowled and clenched a scaly fist. Just as she opened her reptilian mouth to reply, a familiar face entered the room. Myrna strode up to the Guardians and opened his arms in greeting. “Welcome!”

“Myrna,” the guard said, “They're refusing to turn over their belongings.”

Myrna’s eyes went cold and his smile didn't reach higher than his lips. Nevertheless, he responded cheerfully. “We can always… make an exception for our guests. Relax, Guardians! A grand tour awaits!”

Rocket smirked and elbowed Gamora as if to make sure she noticed his ‘negotiation skills’. Myrna led them through the twisting hallways of the ship, giving the team a talk on the scientific inclination of his people that was similar to the one he initially gave Peter. There was something about the atmosphere that calmed the Guardians down, and they listened intently.

Myrna began to finish. “And who you just met was Rhea. She has a one track way of thinking, but she's my chief guard on the ship and a bundle of brute force. If you ever need to make a call during your stay here, you can contact Jacques. His looks are intimidating, but he's gentle, completely mute, and partially deaf. One person who I think you'll find very helpful once the celebration starts is our bartender, Xander,” Myrna exhaled gently. “ And that's really all you need to know.”

“I am excited for this celebration. When will it start?” Drax boomed.

“More importantly, when can we see Peter?” Gamora asked, shooting a dirty look in Drax’s direction. 

“As overjoyed as he may be, he wants to wait until the tonight's festivities are in full swing before making an appearance.” Myrna replied. 

Rocket scoffed. “What a douche. Quill wants his own grand entrance? You'd think his excitement to reunite with his only friends would outweigh the desire to flaunt.”

“Well, if you're truly eager to see him-”

Gamora interrupted. “We are.”

“Then the celebration can start a little earlier than usual. I promise that the partying capabilities of my people will astound you. My only request is that once you enter the bar, you do not wander too far off. Some of the crew will be performing routine resets to the ship, and the environment could be dangerous. Any questions before I notify everyone?”. Myrna pushed open the door leading to the bar and smiled broadly.

“Yeah,” Rocket grunted, “Where can I take a piss?”


	6. Late

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here's chapter 6! This one was really entertaining to write and I hope you all like it. :)
> 
> Thanks for sticking with my lemonade-fueled rambling story.
> 
> xoxo,  
> J:)

An hour later, the celebration was in full swing, and Myrna hadn't been wrong when he said the scientists could party. Drax was downing shot after shot with vigor, and Gamora sipped carefully on an electric yellow substance that smelled like mint. Although she didn’t feel out of place in the bar, watching Drax get drunk was getting dull, and something was missing. Her careful eyes scanned the room and discovered the absence of a familiar face. Gamora ducked into the slightly quieter lounge area of the bar and spoke softly into her comm device. 

“Rocket, pick up. Where the hell are you? Rocket, you better not be passed out right now.”

“Gamora! Hey, hun. No, I'm just in the west wing of the ship. God, are you still in that bar?”

“The one thing Myrna told us not to do was venture to every corner of the ship tonight, and you just had to ignore that?.”

Rocket coughed loudly into his comm. “I thought that a trained warrior like you would have more of a sixth sense for sketchiness. I mean, come on! Myrna’s people barely know Peter and haven't met us, yet they're throwing a grand fiesta because we’re reuniting. Peter is avoiding seeing the people he loves most in the world, us, until the moment seems right? He's not one for thinking clearly, but that's a new low. And you really think a man like Myrna would schedule an entire ship maintenance on a night hundreds of intoxicated scientists could stumble into it? I've been sneaking around nearly the whole ship and I haven't seen a damn thing that would prove that work is being done.” The raccoon darted into another hallway and gasped sharply.

Gamora swallowed hard. “Dammit, Rocket. You’re right.” Her voice faded to a mumble as she looked at the ground in shame. “I'm a trained assassin and yet I'm outsmarted by the damn raccoon.” Hearing Rocket’s gasp, she froze.

“Gamora, I'm, uh, standing in front of a room with Quill’s name on it.”

Gamora exhaled and grinned, but before she could reply, Rocket spoke again.

“Under the name plaque is a sensor that's clearly tracking his vital signs. If it hadn't been for the tiny blip I just saw on the heart monitor, I would have thought he was flatlining.”

A crushing roar of silence filled Gamora’s head, and the comm slipped from her fingers. Peter, on the verge of death? Peter, trapped on a stranger’s ship after being rescued from who knows where, and very much alone? Peter, who she could have payed more attention to and prevented whatever the hell was about to happen if she had just _made him stay_. Gamora picked up the comm and marched back into the chaos. There was a fear growing in her stomach that was impossible to identify, but she walked with confidence, hand resting on the end of a knife she had hidden in her waistband.

“Rocket, tell me where you are.”

*******************************

It took some convincing to pull Drax away from the bar, but Gamora was lucky that he didn't protest the entire way to Rocket’s location. The pair had to duck in a few alcoves and closets to avoid being seen, but Myrna’s ship seemed more concerned about stationing guards than installing security cameras, and Gamora felt confident they hadn't been noticed. And when they arrived, she was horrified to discover that Rocket hadn’t been exaggerating when he said it looked like Peter was flatlining. The heart monitor showed an irregular, spaced out beat with barely any force behind it, and a panel that was tracking his breathing showed shallow pulses.

“Before you ask,” Rocket muttered, fiddling with some bits of wire, “I'm already working on getting inside.”. He held up his creation, a lockpick with an electric charge to override the technology securing the door, and jammed it into the keyhole. “That was easy!”

Gamora shoved Rocket and Drax aside and kicked the door to Peter’s room open, eyes shooting wildly across the sparse decor. “Peter? Are you in here?”

Gamora spun frantically, continuing to call to Peter. The room wasn't large or filled with hiding places, but the Starlord was nowhere to be seen. She raised her eyes to the heavens and froze. “PETER!”

The trio stared upward in muted horror, unable to process what they were seeing. There was Peter, floating gently in a suspended animation tank. Unbeknownst to his friends, he had only been submerged in the tank’s gel for hours, but his ashen face and prominent veins told a different story. He was clearly on Death’s doorstep, if not with one foot in the house.

Rocket was the first to speak, and his voice was shockingly calm. “Drax, I need you to catch the tank when it falls.”

“Why the hell would it fall?” Gamora bleated.

“Because I’m gonna shoot that son of a bitch down.” Rocket unzipped his jacket and pulled out a blaster, aiming at the cord that was swinging the tank.

“That could kill him!”

Rocket bared his teeth in a pained grin. “The suspension system is clearly not a part of whatever life support they have Quill on. And I trust our muscle man to break the fall.”

Drax laughed like a maniac and nodded in agreement. Before Gamora could protest any more, Rocket whistled and shot the cord twice. If they hadn’t been noticed before, the gunshots would definitely attract attention, and Gamora prayed to every entity she could think of for a little more time. If they were lucky, the team had minutes to escape the ship once they woke Peter. If the more probable situation resulted, they wouldn’t make it out without a fight.

Peter’s tank slammed into Drax’s muscled arms, and the Destroyer collapsed as the breath was knocked from his lungs. Ignoring his muffled grunts, Gamora and Rocket pried the front panel off and gallons of the milky blue gel burst from its confines. The computer that was attached to the tank fizzled out, and the life support wires pulled from Peter’s skin. He slumped forward like a ragdoll into Gamora’s waiting arms. Drax heaved the now shattered shell of the prison off of his body and joined his friends as they kneeled over Peter’s body.

Gamora cradled Peter’s head in her hands, feeling numb with fear. She traced her fingers over his skin, ignoring Rocket’s head tilt in confusion at her gentleness. 

“Please wake up,” she whispered. “Are you with us? Peter, please.” Her voice hitched, and for the first time in Gamora’s life her tears did not ashame her. 

“Bullshit, Quill. You are not dying on us.” Rocket paced the length of Peter’s body, looking for any sign of life. He paused at the tip of the Starlord’s head and squinted at a poorly healed, jagged lump on his temple. Without hesitation, he pulled a knife from his belt and gently made an incision in Peter’s skin, ignoring Gamora’s shriek and Drax’s flinch. A metal chip emerged in the slowly pooling blood, and Rocket pocketed it.

HIs explanation was brief. “Some kind of consciousness stunting chip. They put one in me, when, uh.. I happened.”

Even after the chip was removed, Peter wasn’t stirring. The residue the gel had left on him was fading, and apart from his pallor, there was no evidence of his experience in the tank. Gamora started running her fingers through his hair, and before anyone could hastily patch together a plan, the Guardians heard angry shouts in the hall. 

“I’ll hold them off. Secure Quill!” Drax gripped his sword and ran out of the door, bellowing threats as he charged. 

“Dammit Peter, we need you alive.”

Drax’s roars quickly turned into panicked shouts, and Rocket left to assist his friend. Gamora was pleading with Peter’s unmoving form now, her voice escalating in fear as she noticed his skin going cold and his chest becoming still.

“Peter Jason Quill, I do not permit you to die like this. If you can hear me, focus. Think about Yondu. Think about me and Rocket and Drax and Groot. Think of your mother, Peter, focus on those faces.” The warrior straddled Peter’s legs and began to pump on his chest, continuing to speak to him as she fought for his life. “You were right about the unspoken thing, and I’ve never regretted anything more than I regret not acting on it. I was raised to view affection shamefully, and you’ve taught me that it’s anything but. And now I need you to _wake the fuck up_ and look at me, Peter Quill. Starlord. Open your eyes and let me know you’re still here. I will let you play your stupid music and dance with me and make your awful jokes until the end of time if you just wake up.”

The gunshots and crashing of swords faded in her ears, and she heard nothing but her own ragged breaths. Peter simply moved like putty under her hands; her attempts were futile. Gamora retched and leaned off of his body, clawing at her own face in agony. She had experienced grief, fear, and panic before, but Thanos’ teachings had allowed her to brush aside the worst of those feelings. Now, seeing herself unable to help Peter, it felt like every nerve of her body was exposed. She was vulnerable and very, very afraid.

Ignoring the fight that had now spread into the room, Gamora gripped Peter’s limp fingers in her own sturdy ones. She opened her mouth to speak, and the words caught and withered in her throat.

_I love you_ , she wanted to say. _I will forever grieve that I couldn’t save you_. But instead of speaking, she pulled an object from her pocket- the Zune. She softly slid the earbuds in his ears and played the first song that came up. A hard object hit her chest with a thwack, and she fell backwards, yanking out her gun and firing blindly. It was clear the Guardians wouldn’t make if off Myrna’s ship, but they refused to go out without a fight.

*********************************

_Stayed in bed all mornin’ just to pass the time_  
_There’s something wrong here there can be no denying_

There was a hand wrapped around Rocket’s throat with a syringe grasped between its fingers. The raccoon writhed away in panic, foaming at the mouth. He aimed a blaster at a man who appeared to be made of clay and pulled the trigger. “Blam! Murdered you!”

_One of us is changin’ or maybe we’ve just stopped trying_

Myrna was there now, and he and Drax circled eachother like wolves, primed to spring forward. Except Myrna was twitching his hands, and Drax was no longer in a battle zone. He was now by himself in a much smaller room, and the Destroyer succumbed to an overwhelming lay down and forget why he was fighting in the first place. Myrna grimaced and pulled him away from the fighting, dragging the warrior through the shattered glass of Peter’s tank.

_And it’s too late baby now it’s too late_  
Though we really did try to make it

Rocket was pinned down with the heel of Rhea’s boot, and as he spit curses at the reptilian woman, he heard Gamora’s shriek. The assassin, who seconds ago was sending enemies flying was now writhing at Myrna’s feet and swatting at figures only she could see. Rocket heard her calling for Nebula, and he tried yelling to his friend to wake her from her hallucination. And then he saw Drax, and for the first time in Rocket’s short life he knew there was no chance of winning this fight. A sick feeling filled his stomach as he saw Myrna’s boots approaching. He closed his eyes.

_Something inside has died and I can't hide it and I just can't fake it_

A phantom feeling of Gamora’s hand still lingered in Peter Quill’s palm. He began to squeeze it to the beat of the song, stirring what little life was left in his bones.

_Oh, no no no_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WowZa did you like it? Provide me with your feedback in the comments, please. :)
> 
> The song lyrics in the last part were taken from the opening lines of "It's Too Late" by Carol King. Although the audio groove of the song doesn't really fit the action in the scene, I thought the lyrics were perfect. Plus, the song is from the 70s and totally something Peter would download.
> 
> Fun Fact: I considered having Peter really die in this chapter, but hey, he's still there! 
> 
> See you soon!
> 
> xoxo,  
> J:)


	7. Two Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The danger escalates as the team becomes helpless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Happy to say I was able to churn this chapter out pretty fast, but it was written on my phone, so we all know what can happen there.....
> 
> Anyway, enjoy! I'm excited for what comes next;)
> 
> xoxo,  
> J:)

Peter Quill was drifting. He was vaguely aware of a familiar scream from somewhere nearby (Gamora?) and the grunts of the wounded, but his thoughts wouldn't string together. That made him angry, except he didn't have the energy to be angry, so he simply floated within himself. Peter was certain he had been dead at some point and was desperate to resurface so he clung to the sounds of pain around him, using them as a grappling hook to drag himself back into reality. There was also a song playing, somewhere, and he let the melody flow through his splintered mind.

The outside noise stopped, and Peter felt a brand of fear most commonly associated with children; he was alone now, with no one to save him. Although he wasn't aware of it, Myrna had strode over to his body and with a disappointed _tsk_ declared him a deceased specimen. The scientists had left him on the floor. The other Guardians were gone, too, dragged from the room with empty eyes and drained spirits. The world around Peter felt hollow, and he strained to wake.

Gamora had always joked that Peter was most stable in chaos, and she really wasn't wrong. Without a battle to fight, a wild party to attend, or some upbeat music to dance to until he collapsed, the Starlord would fidget and become reckless. Especially after Yondu died, Peter was afraid of his unoccupied mind, and that's what made him so vulnerable in his current state. _He wasn’t in control_. Seconds (minutes? hours? days?) ago, he had flexed his fingers to the beat of the song that had drummed in his head, but that wasn’t enough. Peter needed to move, to run, to fight, but in the deafening silence there was nothing to encourage him to do so.

***********************************

Myrna kept the other Guardians fully conscious for his speech, chaining them to a wall. He paced back and forth, his formally suave clothes a wrinkled and bloodied mess. 

“I am so..disappointed. I welcomed you into my home and provided you with entertainment and comfort, yet you had to cross me. I suppose I should have guessed inviting a band of _criminals_ into the ship would end like this, but I had high hopes for you.”

Rocket spit. “By _high hopes_ , do you mean stringing us up with Peter? It seemed like he was dangling up there.”

“Guardians, Quill was my experiment. Nothing more than a specimen I wanted my people to study. I was hoping I would be able to convince you to see him in the same light, and perhaps volunteer yourselves to science, but it’s clear I didn’t act fast enough. You should have cooperated.”

“If we had cooperated,” Gamora hissed, “We never would have discovered Peter. You would have brainwashed us into seeing him as a toy.”

“And now he’s _dead_ , and you have no one to blame but yourselves. Had he been released from suspended animation correctly and nurtured back to health, you might have had the blessing of seeing him alive again. This is what happens when you try to interfere with purpose.” Myrna strode over to Gamora and cupped her chin in his hand. “I would’ve thought a daughter of Thanos would be able to understand that.”

Drax let out an angry shout and writhed in his bonds. “Get your hands off of her, scum!” He continued to struggle until a guard silenced him with an impassioned kick to the ribs.

“I trust you’re all familiar with the mantra of an eye for an eye. Let’s consider our friend Mr. Quill to have been one of the eyes. You did kill him, Guardians, and although there are two more of you here than the mantra requires, I think it’s only fair that we take you as the other eye. And since you refuse to cooperate, I’m afraid we’ll have to do that by force.”

Before any of the Guardians could speak, Myrna pulled his hand away from Gamora and twisted it. Her face became slack, and empty eyes stared in wonder at a spot over her captor’s shoulder. Myrna stepped to the side and the same happened to Drax, though if you had asked him how he was feeling, the Destroyer would have babbled about the smell of warmth and vanilla. Rocket was the last to be touched. He spat in Myrna’s face as the man approached.

“You can kiss my ass in hell, you son of a bitch.”

Myrna laughed. “If they even let you in down there.” He raised his hand and flexed, holding steady eye contact with the raccoon.

Rocket felt nothing. It wasn’t the blissful nothingness that Gamora and Drax experienced, it was that _nothing had happened to him_. He quickly laxed his face to match the expression his friends had and lowered his eyes, mind racing. _“Why didn’t it work on me?”_ he thought. And then it struck him: when he had been taken from his litter and cybernetically engineered, the scientists had implanted a multitude of tech devices in his systems, one of which was blocking Myrna’s attempt at control. _“Thank you, wackjob engineers.”_

One of Myrna’s goons spoke. “Should we take them to the lab, boss?” 

“I haven’t decided what I want to do with them yet. One I think we may keep fully functional for live testing. Perhaps we’ll make a taxidermy of the rodent, too. Release their bonds. The Guardians are practically wind-up dolls in this state.”

“But, Myrna, won’t they wander?”

“If they do, they’ll travel without purpose. I mean, look at this,” Myrna proceeded to lift Drax’s muscled arms and make them dance. The Destroyer offered no protest. “Harmless. Perhaps they’ll provide some entertainment for the people”

“And Quill’s body?”

“He’s useless without life in his breast. Prepare the incinerator and then collect him.”

The scientist nodded and freed the Guardians from their bonds. Drax promptly sat on the ground like a child, legs crossed and arms propped behind him. Gamora began to exit the room, looking down the entire time, and Rocket followed her. As the door closed behind him, the raccoon scampered to the left, making an effort to not look too alive but moving fast enough to reach Peter’s room before his body was disposed of. Rocket had seen the Starlord die in Gamora’s arms, and although he hated to admit it, he had enough of a heart to give Quill a proper send-off before he was gone forever. 

******************************************

Peter was dreaming. He wondered if this was what it felt like to die while being semi-conscious, and the idea scared him. Putting all of his showy valor aside, Peter was terrified of dying, and he much preferred the idea of _waking up right this instant_ or sinking too deep to feel his lifeforce fading again. In his dream, he was alone, like he was in reality, and swimming. There wasn’t a fish in sight nor even the sound of a wave to keep him company. And in the water, Peter couldn’t shake the feeling that there was no way to reach the shore. His arms, which had been pumping maniacally, slowed down and stopped. There was no point in trying to escape if it was impossible, and he let himself lower below the surface. In sinking in the dream, Peter was also falling through layers of consciousness, and relief washed over him as he let his mind slip away. He gazed through the water towards the sun, almost laughing at how hard he had pushed earlier to awaken. This was so much easier.

“Quill!” In the dream, Peter’s eyes snapped open. His physical body twitched. Someone was calling his name; he wasn’t alone! _“I’m really dying now,_ ” he thought. “ _Yondu used to tell me you could have visions as you died and here I am_.”

*****************************************

Rocket was shaking Peter’s shoulders and digging his claws into his skin. “I saw you die, dumbass, yet here you are twitching and moaning. Looks like we can’t get rid of you, even post-mortem. Wake UP, Quill. Quill!”

*****************************************

The voice belonged to Rocket. It sounded very real, and dream-Peter began to kick toward the surface, lungs begging for air. “Quill! You asshat, wake up. We need you. If this helps your dense skull, Gamora needs you.”

*****************************************  
There was a blinding light, and Peter began to cough. He rolled onto his side, knowing the feeling was real now, and pried open his eyes. Rocket was standing over him with what appeared to be an attempt at an overjoyed grin, and the raccoon extended a paw, pulling Peter to a sitting position.

“What the hell just happened?’ His voice was shaky.

“Sleeping Beauty awakes. You died, Peter, and then some voodoo shit happened when Gamora gave you your Zune, and now you are very much alive. I do expect a thank you for waking your ass up.”

Peter scrunched his nose. There was a escalating dull pain in his leg and a line of congealed blood running down his face, but neither compared to the throbbing in his skull. There wasn’t enough time in the world for Peter to contemplate what Rocket had just said.

“Bu.. I was in a tank. And you guys weren’t here. G’mora’s here?” Peter’s heart stopped, and he scrambled away from his friend, ignoring the weakness in his bones. “You’re not real. You’re one of Myrna’s magic tricks, arn’ you? Get the hell away from me.”

“Woah there, humie. Calm down, it’s really me. Ain’t nothing like me but me, remember?” Rocket stepped forward, and Peter swung wildly. His hand collided with Rocket’s shoulder with an unpleasant crunching noise, and the raccoon yelped.

“Holy shit. You’re really there.” Peter immediately grabbed Rocket and embraced him tightly, ignoring his protests. “How did you find me?”

“I’ll explain that later, Starmunch,” Rocket wriggled away from Peter and crossed the room to the pile of weapons, holstering a sturdy pistol and hunting knife. “For now, we have to get Drax and Gamora, and get the hell out of here. This ship is bad news.”

“You think?” Peter quipped. He rotated to his knees and tried to stand, dry heaving instead. “Damn.”

“Aw, Quill, am I gonna hafta carry you out of here? Catch.” Rocket tossed a gun in Peter’s direction, and the Starlord feebly reached for it as it fell to the ground. “What did they do to you?”

“Rocket. I died. That was enough.” 

“Good point, but we really need to move. Walk it off, pal. I don’t want to kill you again, but there’s a team of scientists who A) think I’m under Myrna’s influence, and B) are coming to collect your corpse to incinerate you. Time to go.”

Peter groaned and grabbed the gun, using it as a cane to stand. “Where are the others?”

“No clue. Myrna’s in their heads and he wants them to be his next great experiment. We have no allies on the ship and very few ways to escape. It’s you and me against an army of psychopaths, Quill.”

Peter cocked his weapon and limped to the door. “Not the first time that’s happened, rat.”

“And I’m sure it won’t be the last, although it will be for you if you call me ‘rat’ one more time.”

Peter laughed, feeling a warmth in his chest that he hadn’t experienced since he crashed. “Is there any good news?”

“Good and bad. We have the advantage of every one of these crazies thinking you’re dead, so no one will expect a thing. There’s also the disadvantage of everyone thinking you’re dead, because the moment someone walks into this room and sees you gone, Jesus-style, it will be obvious that something’s up.”

“What about our ship? Didn’t you have to fly here?”

Rocket nodded, lips pressed together. “The only people on it are Mantis and Groot, and I highly doubt they’re going to storm in and save us.”

The pair turned a corner, Rocket impatiently stalling so Peter could catch up. His skin was still as gray as it had been when he was pulled from the tank, but his veins were less prominent. The raccoon knew little about Terran biology, but he assumed the difference was a good sign. Peter stopped, leaning an arm on the wall and wheezing intensely.

“Gimme.. a sec.”

“Quill, I hate to strain you, but we have to keep going. I need to get to whatever room here has communication and surveillance resources.”

“Rocket if you ever come back from the dead and fare better than I am right now, I’ll let you harass me all you want. But right now I really need to _take a damn second so I can breathe_.”

“You seem to be breathing just fine, delivering all that sass to me, Quill.” But the raccoon let him rest.

When his breathing had slowed, Peter spoke again. “I know where the comm room is. I think we’re pretty close.”

“Is there anything in there I should be prepared for?” Rocket questioned. 

“When I went, there was just a guy-”

“Jacques?”

“Yeah. I don't know how much of a threat he’ll be. I swear, he looks like what would happen if a spider and Bob Marley got frisky.”

“Eugh! What does that even mean, Quill?”

They reached the door to the communication room and Peter gently turned the handle, relieved to have reached their final destination without passing out. “You’ll see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rocket is a HERO I LOVE him and Peter is TOO GOOD
> 
> xoxo,  
> J:)


	8. It's Always Good to have a Plan B

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry I took so long to update, but I've been extremely busy (and without a computer) IRL. Thank you so much for your patience, and 2000+ hits!
> 
> xoxo,  
> J:)

Jacques was poised as if he was anticipating Rocket and Peter’s arrival; standing on the far end of the communication room with a sleek pistol in one steady hand.

Peter spoke calmly, fighting exhaustion. “I have no interest in shooting you, Jacques. But my friend here is a maniac, and he will have no reserves in doing so.”

Rocket, keeping his blaster trained on the man, spoke quietly to Peter. “I thought this guy was deaf, Quill. Feel like it's insensitive to threaten a deaf guy. Let’s just kill him.”

“He’s only deaf in one ear, right?”  
The spider-man rolled his eyes and nodded in confirmation. And then he dropped his gun, walking carefully to a touchscreen by one of the largest monitors. He typed quickly, and a clear, masculine voice rang over the room’s speakers.

“I’m not going to stop you.”

“What?” Rocket lowered his blaster in bewilderment.

“What I’m going to do will cost me my life, which is why you need to act fast,” Jacques was typing like a madman. “You deserve a fair fight, and without an ally, you have no chance of getting away from Myrna. In two minutes, I’m going to sound the alarm bell, which forces every being on this ship to go to the main meeting room. Your friends will be put in the quarters they were first chained in, and that’s where you two need to go. Take this.” He handed Peter a syringe filled with a glowing orange liquid and tapped his own neck, the computerized voice still speaking. “The serum will temporarily prevent you from being controlled by Myrna. Inject it here.”

Peter handled it gingerly. “How do I know this isn’t just filled with poison? I don’t want to offend you, but your generosity as hosts usually has a drawback.”

Jacques set his face to stone and rose from his chair, his many eyes wide with determination. He balled his hand into a fist and crossed his torso, thumping his chest twice. Peter swallowed hard and returned the salute. 

“Okay,” the Starlord said. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Rocket, still suspicious of Jacques, crept over to the computer screens and started shutting down the security systems as the spider-man sounded the emergency meeting alarm. Peter leaned heavily against a wall and watched his friend work through drooping eyes. He was anxious to save his friends and get off the ship, but the real worry came from every thought involving Gamora. When he had been dying, Peter knew she had tried to save him. He remembered some of her words, but the details were hazy, and he was desperate to find out what she had said to his lifeless body. Rocket’s comm buzzed, breaking the tense silence. The raccoon positioned the device between his head and shoulders and spoke nonchalantly into it.

“Hey, Mantis.”

“What? No, not Mantis. Rocket, it’s me!”

Rocket’s eyes widened and he turned from his work, grinning at Peter. “ _Kraglin?_ You son of a bitch, how have you been?”

“Not too bad, kid. I wasonna job, see, an’ I spotted the Milano. Had ‘er dock on my ship, an’ to my surprise, only the bug lady and the baby tree was on it!”

Peter groaned. “Rocket, we don’t have time to socialize right now.”

The raccoon pulled the comm away from his ear and stuck his tongue out at Peter. “Take the stick outta your ass, Quill. Kraglin may be able to help us,” He turned away and spoke cheerfully to the Ravager. “Kraglin, do you think you could, uh, pick up some more passengers?”

**************************************

Minutes later, Rocket finished disabling security just as footsteps began to echo down the hall.

“Well, somebody realized something was up,” Peter spat, and he didn't have to look to Jacques for confirmation. The door to the comm room opened aggressively, revealing a lithe man covered in intricate tattoos. He walked in, shaking his head in anger.

“Jacques,” he started, “I was hoping I wouldn't find you in this position. You’d ordinarily be killed for your treason, but consider yourself lucky. Turn these two over, and I won't say a word. You are my friend, and I'd hate to see you go like this.”

The man gave Jacques the courtesy of accessing his computerized voice, training his pistol on the spider-man as he typed. 

“Raphael,” the computer spoke, “has your time with Myrna completely shattered your beliefs? Where is your empathy? These people have done nothing wrong. We should be helping them”

Raphael responded ardently, his pistol hand shaking. “Jacques, Myrna has provided me with more than I could have ever hoped for. Through him, I’ve found a sense of belonging, and more importantly, love. And I know you've found that too, friend. You wouldn't want to throw the opportunity away.”

Jacques froze and then typed frantically. “Where is he?”

Peter recognized the pain in the man’s eyes; it was a reflection of his own whenever he was torn over Gamora. He remembered the Terran that Jacques had been dancing with the night he was put in the tank, and his heart broke for the man.

Raphael smirked. “He ran the moment Myrna declared a state of emergency. Fucking typical. But I know you love him, and if you’d rather not break his heart, I would choose my way. You live, and these scum are taken care of.”

“Like hell we’ll be _taken care of_ ,” Rocket snarled, hopping off his chair and marching to the tattooed man. “I don't know who you think we are, but nobody here is going to roll over bellyup and surrender. You'll be dead before you can call me ‘batshit’ if you try to kill us.”

Cocking his head like a curious dog, Raphael’s face lit up with a molten grin. “You’re batshit,” he said, and released the safety on his gun, yanking it downward to be positioned between Rocket’s eyes. And then, where Raphael’s chest had been there was a ragged, smoking hole. The man stumbled back, mouth open in shock. He blinked twice.

“Jacques,” he started, and then there was nothing to say. The spider-man was holding a smoking blaster in one hand, crouched down by his monitor and trembling. Peter immediately rushed to his side, ignoring his own pain. Rocket gazed in wonder at Raphael’s body, admiring the cleanness of the wound. _“No blood,”_ he thought. _“That's one helluva superheated bullet.”_

Jacques’s face, which had just been the color of black coffee, was sickly as he stared at the corpse of his former friend. Peter helped him to his computer, keeping one hand on the man’s back at all times.

“He had a wife, you know. And kids. And now he's dead. I killed him.”

“You saved my life, kid. Probably Peter’s, too.” Rocket’s blaring voice was unusually gentle as he approached Jacques. “And you can save two more if you help us get out of here. But if you need to quit on us, we need to know so we can plan on our own. I’ll take the blame for Raphael.”

Every one of Jacques’s eyes glistened with tears, but he shook his head vehemently and typed for the last time.

“Follow me.”

***************************

The trio wound through the halls of the ship, carefully avoiding armed enemies and disposing of the ones who put up a fight. They were mostly unopposed as they reached Gamora and Drax’s containment room, but Peter attributed their success to Rocket’s dismantling of the security systems and not pure luck. Jacques grabbed the Starlord’s sleeve and gestured wildly to the door in front of them.

“Yep,” Rocket grunted, “that’s our destination.”

The door was surprisingly unlocked, but Peter realized why the moment the team stepped inside. After Jacques had sounded the fake alarm bell, Gamora and Drax had been collected and hastily tied to a column, pirate-style. They weren’t asleep, but their bonds made them immobile and the distant look in their eyes made it clear escape wasn’t an option. Peter felt a rush of guilt that overwhelmed his physical pain and he ran to Gamora’s side, using Rocket’s newly acquired knife to slice through the ropes that bound her. Her head lolled as she stood, and Peter scooped the assassin into his arms.

Rocket chuckled. “Quill, if she was, ya know, ‘here’ right now, she would kick your ass for doing that.” The raccoon freed Drax as he spoke.

“Don’t joke. Jacques, how can we bring them back?”

The man frowned and flapped his hands at Peter.

“We need to get them out of here? That’s all it’ll take?”

Jacques nodded in confirmation, and Rocket piped up.

“Our spindly pal is correct. I assume that although Myrna is powerful, he’s only able to control what’s in his domain. Once we get our sleeping beauties off of the ship, whatever trance they’re experiencing will loosen. We’re lucky they aren’t neck-deep in hallucinations right now, because that might be a different story.”

Peter shuddered at the mention of hallucinations and wondered if Myrna had subjected his friends to any other pain. The guilt he previously felt hardened into steely resolve, and he walked without shaking to the door, Gamora in his arms. “What’s the plan, Rocket?”

The raccoon grinned. “The Milano is docked on Kraglin’s ship, and he’s gonna swing that bitch around to meet us at the port we used to get on this one. If you can even call this a ship. Anyway, I brought extra spacesuits, and we’re all gonna suit up and get sucked into Kraglin’s bay.”

“That was a very sexual sentence.”

“Shut up, Quill. Kraglin said he’d have blasters ready to fire at anyone who follows us. But getting into his ship is the easy part. We have to make it to the exit first.”

“Well, we got here without problem, right?”

“Yeah, but that was without two entranced buddies in tow. I have a feeling Myrna’s crazies are mad, now.”

Peter and Rocket exchanged a meaningful look with Jacques, and the spider-man darted from the room. The Starlord followed, then Rocket with a clumsy Drax in tow. This time, the lack of conflict the group faced made Peter uneasy, and there was a tiny voice in his head telling him that something was very wrong.

And upon walking into their exit location, that voice was proven to be right.

“And on the third day,” Myrna drawled, “he rose again. Or should I say, the twelfth hour. Peter Quill, back from the dead.” The man was standing in the entrance/exit bay of the ship, surrounded by swarms of armed scientists. Where a day before there had been a variety of travel pods lining the room, there were now two parallel rows of operating tables and suspension tanks.

_“Three,”_ Peter thought, scanning his surroundings, _“Three tanks but four Guardians. Why would there only be three?”_

“Move out of the way, jackass.” Rocket let go of Drax’s hand and marched closer to Myrna, gun in hand. “Try stopping us and I’ll blow your brains out. Your voodoo shit doesn’t scare me.”

The blue man laughed. “Such bravery for the smallest member of your group. I think you’re forgetting that it’s the three of you against all of us.” He turned, addressing the newest member of the team. “Jacques. I will say that I was shocked when I saw you enter with these..'Guardians'. My most loyal man, turned against me. I always did think you were soft, but treasonous? The thought would have never crossed my mind.”

Jacques flinched, and Peter moved to his side in subconscious defense. He lowered Gamora to the ground and pulled out a pistol. Myrna sighed.

“Guardians, if any of you fire, there won’t be much of you left to dispose of. I do think that twenty-some gun wounds will keep even you dead, Peter Quill. I would much prefer if you all just surrendered and let me collect you. As you can see, I have your tanks ready.”

“Why are there only three, Myrna?” Peter growled.

“Well obviously, Jacques will be executed for his betrayal, but he isn’t interesting enough to study in the first place.”

“But there are four of us. Me, Rocket, Gamora, and Drax.”

Myrna clasped his hands in delight. “Oh! I nearly forgot. After we observed your behavior and determination to escape, I decided that controlling your minds wouldn’t be enough for your cooperation. Even the raccoon will be affected by this plan.” He twisted his hand, and Gamora’s eyes shot open. Peter immediately reached down to help her, but she twisted away, slashing at his arm. Her deep brown eyes were full of fear as she stumbled to Myrna’s side.

“Get away from me,” Gamora hissed, spit flying from her mouth. Suddenly, she turned to her left and screamed, cowering from an unseeable force. Peter desperately called her name.

“You see,” Myrna began, walking calmly toward the remaining Guardians and Jacques, “I will drive this girl insane until you cooperate. Although you may be a bunch of assholes, your weakness is your affection towards eachother.”

Rocket lowered his gun and faced Peter, defeat masking his usually snarling face. Back turned to the scientists, he discreetly pressed a button on his pocketed comm device and spoke loudly. “Well, Starmunch, looks like we’re going to have to give up. There’s _no way we can get off of the ship. Our plan will not work_.”

Peter tore his eyes from Gamora’s groaning form and frowned at Rocket, who was winking (correctly this time). Realization hit him like a truck, and he nodded solemnly. Rocket pressed his comm again, turning it off.

“Let her go.” Peter dropped his pistol and limped to Myrna’s side, kneeling in submission. “We’ll cooperate.”

“Finally!” Myrna nodded to a group of his scientists, who stepped aside and revealed a fourth tank meant for Gamora. “Let’s get started. Thank you for your understanding, Guardians.” Gamora slumped to the floor, released from both her hallucination and previous trance. 

“Peter?” she croaked, eyes unfocused.

And then the side of the ship blew up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 9 coming asap, and will be the most action-packed. Please leave me some comments!


	9. Trade your Heroes for Ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been soooo long but I am SO HYPED UP for everyone to read this chapter.
> 
> Thank you so much for 2000+ hits, 100+ kudos, and all of your lovely comments. You warm my heart.
> 
> I hope you feel all the emotions I felt while writing it....
> 
> xoxo,  
> J:)

A wall of flame and shrapnel rolled through the bay, incinerating some scientists but sending the rest, and the Guardians, flying backwards. Myrna wailed in agony as a piece of metal sliced through his shoulder.

Kraglin had fired a missile into Myrna’s ship. He hadn’t just done it for fun; when Rocket was talking to Peter about how the escape wouldn’t work, he had also commed his Ravager friend in hopes that a new plan could be born. And, once a Ravager, always a Ravager, so Kraglin took matters into his own hands and created a distraction that also succeeded in eliminating almost a third of the Guardian’s enemies. Unfortunately, there was now a raging fire spreading across the floor of the bay, and the team was still trapped.

Rocket barked with laughter and spun in a circle, firing his blaster at anything that moved through the wave of the heated air. Drax, who had been smacked with an unpleasant THUD against the back wall of the bay, rose to his feet. The main blow of the impact had been to his skull, and the combination of the energy and Myrna’s loss of control freed the Destroyer from his trance. Spotting Rocket, a ridiculously wide grin crossed Drax’s face, and he charged to his side.

“It is time to destroy these despicable fools!” 

Rocket glanced up, startled. “Oh, thank God. You’re back. Great job on not waking up earlier,” A bullet whizzed by the raccoon’s ear, and he scowled at Drax for distracting him. He handed the Destroyer a knife he had taken from a fallen scientist and spat. “Give ‘em hell.”

Drax barrelled into the fight, a steady roar bursting from his chest as he effortlessly swatted aside the scientists. Moving through the crowds, he was untouchable, and Rocket couldn’t help but grin at the blind bravery (stupidity?) his friend had. 

Peter rose unsteadily to his feet, shaking his head. The fight around him was distorted, with things moving either too fast or too slow, but the only thing he could focus on was Gamora. Through stinging eyes, he spotted her; she had risen like Aphrodite from the waters and was now cutting down anyone who tried to get in her way. He could see through the blur that her eyes were haunted, but her jaw was set in such a way that it was clear she would overcome however Myrna had torn her apart. 

“PUT YOUR SPACESUITS ON,” he screamed over the chaos, activating the one that Rocket had given him. “GET TO THE HOLE!” Peter didn’t care who heard him. He knew that the explosion would only scatter Myrna’s team for as long as it would take them to form a new plan, and the Guardians had to get out before that happened. Ignoring the tendrils of pain that swarmed through his form, Peter darted to the ragged hole in the ship. There was a glimmering sheen coating the gap, and Peter presumed it had been put in place as a safety measure preventing a direct connection to the void that was space. He could spot Kraglin’s ship in the distance, entrance port open and weapons alert, and a rush of gratitude filled him. In his youth, Kraglin had been the closest thing to a friend he could find in the Ravagers, and time and time again the man had come to Peter’s rescue. It seemed some things never changed, regardless of distance or time.

Feeling a hand on his shoulder, the Starlord spun around, gun raised. Jacques stood beside him with a blood-encrusted lip and disheveled hunger in his gaze. He nodded at Peter and pointed to the center of the crowd. Peter groaned, because in the middle of the chaos, Myrna was perched like a god on a high table, barking orders at his team. Besides the steady stream of blood that poured from his collarbone, the villain seemed unperturbed by the sudden change of events. A single gun was strapped to his waistband but he made no move to take it out. Jacques pointed again, more determined this time, and Peter realized that Myrna would have to die before anyone could escape. 

“Myrna!” Peter shouted, his old snark filling his tone. “Pal, I really think things are getting out of hand here. I mean, look at your team.” He waved a trembling hand around the room. “Half of them are bathing in a pool of their own blood and pain, or they’re nothing but cinders. Is this really how you want to see your work die? There may only be four of us-”

Jacques grabbed Peter and put up an open palm. The Starlord grinned.

“Correction. There may only be five of us against a helluva lot of you, but this is just a prime example of how quality really does beat quantity.”

Myrna sneered and hopped off of the table. The fighting had stopped, but as he approached Peter, Gamora quietly ran a sword through a particularly angry scientist. Drax winked at her, stifling crazed laughter.

“You’re really starting to bore me, Peter. Every time you stand up to me, you say the same things.” Myrna stopped three feet from Peter and lazily raised his hand. His voice was mocking as he continued. “ _We’re the Guardians of the Galaxy! We will defeat you, Myrna!_ Ha! Do you know just how easily I could make you my slaves? My.. specimens? Quality may beat quantity, Peter Quill, but I assure you: my brains could squeeze the brawn out of you in no time.” He paused, resting a hand on his gun. A slender tongue exited his lips as he hardened his gaze. “But I’m no longer interested in playing with you, Guardians. That time has passed. Do you know why?”

Rocket rolled his eyes and walked to Myrna. “Pray tell, darling.”

“Because you _pissed me off_.” He leaped forward, and as Peter took a wild step back in anticipation, Rocket latched onto Myrna’s already bleeding arm. The raccoon sunk his teeth into Myrna’s elbow and jerked his head, sending a surprisingly pungent splatter of blood across the floor. The scientists stiffened, but made no move to attack the Guardians. The twisted tendons and ragged flesh of Myrna’s arm hung puppet-like as Rocket let go, darting to Peter’s side. Myrna’s face contorted in pain as he spoke.

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Before the Guardians could even think to move, Myrna raised his gun and fired blindly.

***************

Peter stumbled back. He was confused, because Rocket was leaping at Myrna again and again, fighting off a swarm of scientists who had finally rushed to their leader’s side. He was confused because Drax was running toward him from his position across the room, and Jacques was reaching out an impossibly slow hand, fingers grasping at Peter’s arm. He was confused because Gamora’s face was no longer twisted in a firey rage, but cold fear instead. But mostly, he was confused over the flower blossoming on his chest, crimson petals spreading to coat his gray tee shirt. The seed that had planted the flower had been ugly and hot and had sent its roots of agony all throughout Peter’s torso. Myrna had planted the seed in his chest, and as Peter studied it, he saw how horrific its bloom was. There was no allure in the way it consumed him, and Peter stumbled back once more, falling through the sheen that separated the ship from space. He floated through its curtains and closed his eyes, barely noticing the faint yellow glow that was quickly pulling him away from the chaos and not caring where it came from.

Peter had always been a little afraid of death, but he trained himself to glorify thoughts of his own. He was a hero, after all, and heros die with honor. 

But there is no beauty in someone’s last breath leaving their lips.

Gamora wailed.

***************

The Guardians broke free from the scientists, who were now paying more attention to Myrna’s worsening condition than their enemies. Rocket was the first to speak.

“We need to get out of here. Now. They’re all distracted, and Kraglin’s sent out the beam, see?” He pointed a bloodied paw at the light emanating from the nearby ship, his next words dying in his throat at the sight of Peter’s body being pulled by it.

“Is Quill..” Drax started, muscular hand flexing in stress.

“I don’t know,” Rocket answered, his wide eyes glistening as he turned to face his friend. “But if he’s, if he’s-” the raccoon scrunched his face and looked at Gamora, then the floor. “We could save him if he’s not.”

“FORGET ME- GET THEM!” Myrna’s voice shot through the room like a grenade, and the Guardians exchanged a panicked look before throwing themselves through the hole. Only Jacques stayed behind.

“You can come with us,” Gamora pleaded, offering her hand to the spider-man. “You’re the reason we can get out of here in the first place. You don’t deserve to die here.”

Jacques smiled softly and shook his head. He opened his mouth as if to impossibly speak, then turned away. His shoulders trembled as he walked toward the charging scientists, and one stopped, wrapping a thick arm around his neck. The Guardians watched in horror as he was dragged toward Myrna.

“Oh my God, Rocket, they’re going to kill him! _We have to get him out!_ ” Gamora’s voice was shaky and high as she spoke.

“Shit. It’s his choice.”

Suddenly, the trio felt the tug of Kraglin’s beam, and Myrna’s ship seemed to get smaller as they were pulled back from it. Gamora struggled, screaming.

“Gamora! Rocket is right. We have to go.” Drax wrapped his arm around Gamora’s torso and pulled her closer to him, cradling her like a child.

“If P-Peter’s de-dead, that’ll be two deaths we could have pr-prevented.” Gamora was shocked by her own misery, but made no effort to hide it. Unlike the years she had spent with Thanos, the assassin knew there would be no punishment for her raw emotion. She stopped struggling and wept instead, burrowing her face into Drax’s shoulder. 

“Look.” Rocket whispered, mouth agape at the sight of another explosion rocking Myrna’s ship. Kraglin was firing relentlessly at the craft, and Rocket raised his arm in salute as it was destroyed. As they neared the port, Rocket spotted a small object floating along with them. A melody pumped out of it; the Zune.

The last chords of Pink Floyd’s Wish you Were Here played as the Guardians entered Kraglin’s ship. Mantis was waiting for them solemnly, Groot perched on her shoulder. The tiny tree lept into Rocket’s open arms and the raccoon held him with a softened expression. Although Rocket, Gamora, and Drax had been gone for under half a week, Groot acted like he hadn’t seen his friends in years. His innocence swelled Gamora’s heart, but she couldn’t force herself to smile. Her stomach rolled as she noticed a trail of blood dotted with footprints leading down the hall to the medbay, and she looked to Mantis in desperation. 

The empath’s voice was barely a whisper. “He’s alive.”

***************

Hours later, Gamora was still perched by an unconscious Peter’s hospital bed. She was refusing both physical and mental care from the med team, and instead was busy bombarding the current doctor with questions.

“He’s very lucky. The bullet barely missed his right subclavian artery and-”

Gamora interrupted. “You know Terran anatomy?” 

The doctor raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “I’m a _doctor_. It’s kind of my job to know the body.”

Gamora studied the man, tired eyes lingering on his tentacles and spotted skin. 

“Just because I’m not Terran doesn’t mean I’m not going to make an effort to understand how they work. Anyway, as I was saying, had the bullet entered two inches higher, he would most definitely be dead. And really, if he had arrived on the ship even two minutes later, he could have been DOA. You saw how frantically we were working on him, didn’t you?”

Gamora shivered at the memory and nodded. After Mantis had told her Peter was still alive, she had raced to the medbay cell he was in. Kraglin had been standing nervously at the door, watching the flurry of activity inside, and the assassin had shoved him aside to enter. Peter wasn’t visible through the crowd of doctors around him, and all Gamora could do was watch his heart monitor with bated breath and swim in her own thoughts. 

“You should really let us help you, now that he’s stable,” the doctor said. “Your furry friend gave us the rundown on what happened back there, and I can see a good deal of the damage.” He gestured gently to the various bruises and scrapes coating Gamora’s face and arms, but she shook her head. 

“I’m fine. I’ve looked worse.” 

“Gamora, your external injuries aren’t our main concern. Mental manipulation is a very powerful thing, and leaving its results unattended-”

“Enough. Send someone in for me in an hour if you have to, but I’m not moving from this spot.”

The doctor pursed his lips but didn’t respond. “Call for us if any of his vitals change drastically.” He left, and Gamora sighed shakily. She wrapped her hand around Peter’s and studied his face. The Starlord had already been pale from the aftereffects of his ordeal on Myrna’s ship (she would have to ask him for an explanation on the whole dying thing when he woke), but the loss of blood had made his skin nearly paper-white. Yet through the unnatural pallor, sunken cheeks, and brow furrowed in sleep, he was still Peter. Gamora wondered if he had heard any of what she had told him when he was dying the first time, and as she began to talk to his sleeping form, Peter squeezed her hand.

His eyes didn’t open, but he spoke. “Hey, ‘mora.”

She laughed. “How did you know it was me?”

The corner of Peter’s mouth lifted. “Drax wouldn’ hold my han’.”

The comment made her chest warm, but Gamora suddenly hardened. “I thought you were dead, Peter. Twice. I wouldn’t be able to handle it if you had died on me like that; the first time in my arms and the second time beyond my control. You-- you mean, um, too much to me to be lost.”

Peter chuckled, then broke into a coughing fit. Gamora bit her lip as she watched the tremors travel through his body. “I’ll make an effort to never die again. Good?”

“Good.” Gamora whispered. 

And it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOOOOO BOY that was a ride, but so fun to write.
> 
> Did you think Peter was gone? Did you feel all of the feelings I hoped you would? ;)
> 
> I think the next chapter will be the last, so I hope you've enjoyed everything so far! Please leave some feedback in the comments.
> 
> xoxo,  
> J:)


	10. You Don't Need to Speak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS HELLA SHORT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter is here! And it’s more of a oneshot than a chapter, but it seemed to be a proper way to wrap things up. Thanks for all the love you've sent while reading this story, either in Kudos form or comments.
> 
> I will say that I kind of lost track of where I wanted this story to end, and as many times as I've rewritten this chapter, it doesn't quite feel right. But, I'll let you all be the judges of that.
> 
> ENJOY!
> 
> xoxo,  
> J:)

Nothing was normal, though weeks had passed. Peter still turned sheet-white whenever he strained himself. Rocket spent his free time building tiny weapons and researching Jacques’s family. Gamora had closed up on things she had spent months loosening on. Even Drax was more solemn. And yet, there was celebration. Mantis entered (and quickly lost) her first drinking game with Drax and Kraglin. Rocket spent hours convincing Groot that the flavored water he drank nearly every night was alcohol and _no of course no one was babying him_. Peter was full of wisecracks and new music, and Gamora was always hiding a smile over everyone’s antics. They were screwed up, but that didn’t mean they were incomplete.

When he wasn’t listening to music or working alongside Rocket, Peter spent a lot of time watching Gamora. The things she had been about to say to him those weeks ago in the medbay seemed to have dissipated, and their interactions were purely of the friend-from-work type. That didn’t stop Peter from hoping, though, nor from playing the songs he knew would get her dancing on her own. 

When he eventually offered a hand to Gamora after he walked on her dancing, she accepted. The song wasn’t slow, and Gamora stifled a laugh as she watched him try to move to the beat while also keeping his hands on her. There was no tension between them- a fact that may have been a relief to any other two beings but one that wrenched at Peter’s heart as he spun Gamora around. 

That night, the Guardians said their goodbyes to Kraglin’s bunch and reinhabited the Milano. The ship was as cramped as ever, especially with the addition of a full-time Mantis, but it was home. Drax made a horrible dinner, which was quickly abandoned for a variety of pre-packaged pastries Rocket had found in the storeroom, and the team settled in the flight deck It was late, and although they were content, none of the Guardians felt like starting a wild night. 

*************

Peter was flying the Milano. They had agreed to keep moving since the majority of the galaxy was in chaos, and the Starlord had taken first shift. Gamora, unable to drift off, watched him from the shadows. He had one earbud of the Zune in and was absentmindedly shifting his legs and hips to the tune, mouthing the words as he gently steered the ship through a cloud of debris. Suddenly, he spun in his chair and spotted Gamora; both quickly tensed. 

“Hey,” Peter said, a grin tearing at his mouth. “Enjoying the show?”

Gamora rolled her eyes and stepped into the light. “You’re no Kevin Bacon, Peter.”

“I am absolutely _thrilled_ you understand that reference, Gamora. Although I’m offended you can’t see the resemblance between us.”

There was a pause, and Peter looked down, switching the Milano to a glide mode. “Um, what’s up?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” Gamora shrugged.

“So you decided to creep in the shadows and watch me? I can’t deny the draw of my devastating good lucks and dance moves, bu-”

“Peter.”

He glanced up guiltily and rose, swallowing hard. And then he yelped, because Gamora’s arms were wound around his shoulders, her face pressed up against his neck. It wasn’t a firm embrace, but Peter snugly wrapped his arms around her body all the same. 

“No more disappearing, okay?” Gamora whispered.

“Deal.” Peter gently moved his hands in circles on her back. “This okay?”

The pressure of Gamora’s newly formed smile on Peter’s chest was enough of an answer for him.

Because there are some things that _can_ be left unspoken. Things can be left quiet.

Except for Peter Quill, of course, after Gamora kisses him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE DID IT!!!!
> 
> I hope everyone enjoyed reading all 10 chapters. And, if you liked this story enough, feel free to subscribe to me! A Tony Stark centered story and a variety of Infinity War AUs might be coming your way. ;)
> 
> Until next time!
> 
> -J:)
> 
> p.s. i really hate this chapter im sorryryr


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